like of which was never known in a theatre before. Women shrieked, sobbed, and fainted. Men cursed and raved, or were dumb with horror and amazement. Miss Keene stepped to the front and begged the frightened and dismayed audience to be calm. Then she entered the President's box with water and stimulants. Medical aid was summoned and came with flying feet, but came too late. The murderer's bullet had done its wicked work well. The President hardly stirred in his chair, and never spoke or showed any signs of consciousness again. They carried him immediately to the house of Mr. Petersen, opposite the theatre, and there at 7:22 the next morning, the 15th of April, he died. The night of Lincoln's assassination was a memorable, one in Washington. Secretary Seward was attacked and wounded while lying in bed with a broken arm. The murder of the President put the authorities on their guard against a wide-reaching conspiracy, and threw the public into a state of terror. The awful event was felt even by those who knew not of it. Horsemen clattered through the silent streets of Washington, spreading the sad tidings, and the telegraph wires carried the terrible story everywhere. The nation awakened from its dream of peace on the 15th of April, 1865, to learn that its protector, leader, friend, and restorer had been laid low by a stage-mad “avenger.” W. O. Stoddard, in his “Life of Lincoln,” says: “It was as if there had been a ” death in every house throughout
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